stroller, and the kick he felt in his heart, seeing the two of them.
Forever. Yeah, that seemed about right.
Once again, memories rocked him, but this time, they weren’t the brutal ugly memories of his past.
He thought about nights spent in her backyard, her behind the old, brick grill he’d helped her repair, while she wielded a spatula and threatened to beat him if he came near her while she was cooking. The boys laughing as he pretended to cower away.
He thought of Nolan, the way he’d laugh when Tate threw him up the air and vague memories of his own father doing the same tried to creep in.
Then there were bittersweet, beautiful memories of nights spent in her bed. Her arms, soft and strong, wrapped around him as he moved over her, her voice a hungry little whisper in her ear.
He’d felt so … right.
With her.
It was the closest to real he’d ever felt.
He was letting it slip away.
He did run.
“Fuck.” He glared at the sculpture in front of him, the blowtorch feeling too heavy, awkward in his hands.
Swearing, he stepped back and lowered the tool.
If he kept this up, he was going to ruin the damn thing or put himself in the hospital.
He stowed his gear and moved away, staring out the grimy windows, but seeing nothing.
Except Ali. He saw her everywhere, felt her even when she wasn’t there.
The need to be with her, to tell her everything he had inside him was choking him.
He wanted to be the man she deserved.
The thought of seeing her in town one day, with some other guy was enough to gut him.
It would happen. Madison was about the size of a postage stamp.
He couldn’t stand the thought of her being with somebody else, but could he be what she wanted?
“Instead of reaching for a life where you could finally be happy, you run from it.”
Reach for a life.
Dropping his head, he rubbed the muscles along the nape of his neck while the storm built inside him. How in the hell did he reach for a life anyway? He’d never had one. It had all stopped one hot summer night fifteen years ago.
Reach for her, he thought.
That was how he started.
If he was going to do that, though, he had face things, figure out the mess that was his life, his past.
All of it.
* * *
There used to be a car shop there.
Tate stood at the corner, eyeing the empty building. The sign wasn’t readable anymore.
For the longest time, even after his dad had stopped trying to make it work, he could make out the words Bell’s Auto Care. A few others had tried to make a go with the place, set up a business but nothing had lasted.
When Doug Bell had owned it, it had done okay. More than okay, actually, although Doug had worked long hours. For a few months, right up until Mom had disappeared, Tate had been working there, too, and that had helped some.
Tate tried not to think about that time of his life. Tried not to think about how his mom would tease his father, making the somber man laugh, even when he didn’t know what to make of her sometimes.
Nichole had been silly. Strict and silly. Absolutely wonderful.
So many of those arguments had happened because their dad thought she was too strict.
Half the fights, though, Tate didn’t even understand what they were about. The last one …
Something crunched behind him.
Slowly, he turned, although he already knew who he was going to find behind him.
His father stood there, wearing the overalls he had to wear at the mechanic shop where he’d worked the past ten years. The words Assistant Manager were embroidered under his name. He’d been an assistant for ten years. At sixty years old, he probably wasn’t going to go any higher.
“The old shop looks like hell,” Doug said softly, looking past him to glance at the place he’d once taken so much pride in.
There were so many things Tate could have said.
So many things he’d already said. Questions he could have asked, maybe questions he should have asked.
He found himself thinking of what Guy had
Forever. Yeah, that seemed about right.
Once again, memories rocked him, but this time, they weren’t the brutal ugly memories of his past.
He thought about nights spent in her backyard, her behind the old, brick grill he’d helped her repair, while she wielded a spatula and threatened to beat him if he came near her while she was cooking. The boys laughing as he pretended to cower away.
He thought of Nolan, the way he’d laugh when Tate threw him up the air and vague memories of his own father doing the same tried to creep in.
Then there were bittersweet, beautiful memories of nights spent in her bed. Her arms, soft and strong, wrapped around him as he moved over her, her voice a hungry little whisper in her ear.
He’d felt so … right.
With her.
It was the closest to real he’d ever felt.
He was letting it slip away.
He did run.
“Fuck.” He glared at the sculpture in front of him, the blowtorch feeling too heavy, awkward in his hands.
Swearing, he stepped back and lowered the tool.
If he kept this up, he was going to ruin the damn thing or put himself in the hospital.
He stowed his gear and moved away, staring out the grimy windows, but seeing nothing.
Except Ali. He saw her everywhere, felt her even when she wasn’t there.
The need to be with her, to tell her everything he had inside him was choking him.
He wanted to be the man she deserved.
The thought of seeing her in town one day, with some other guy was enough to gut him.
It would happen. Madison was about the size of a postage stamp.
He couldn’t stand the thought of her being with somebody else, but could he be what she wanted?
“Instead of reaching for a life where you could finally be happy, you run from it.”
Reach for a life.
Dropping his head, he rubbed the muscles along the nape of his neck while the storm built inside him. How in the hell did he reach for a life anyway? He’d never had one. It had all stopped one hot summer night fifteen years ago.
Reach for her, he thought.
That was how he started.
If he was going to do that, though, he had face things, figure out the mess that was his life, his past.
All of it.
* * *
There used to be a car shop there.
Tate stood at the corner, eyeing the empty building. The sign wasn’t readable anymore.
For the longest time, even after his dad had stopped trying to make it work, he could make out the words Bell’s Auto Care. A few others had tried to make a go with the place, set up a business but nothing had lasted.
When Doug Bell had owned it, it had done okay. More than okay, actually, although Doug had worked long hours. For a few months, right up until Mom had disappeared, Tate had been working there, too, and that had helped some.
Tate tried not to think about that time of his life. Tried not to think about how his mom would tease his father, making the somber man laugh, even when he didn’t know what to make of her sometimes.
Nichole had been silly. Strict and silly. Absolutely wonderful.
So many of those arguments had happened because their dad thought she was too strict.
Half the fights, though, Tate didn’t even understand what they were about. The last one …
Something crunched behind him.
Slowly, he turned, although he already knew who he was going to find behind him.
His father stood there, wearing the overalls he had to wear at the mechanic shop where he’d worked the past ten years. The words Assistant Manager were embroidered under his name. He’d been an assistant for ten years. At sixty years old, he probably wasn’t going to go any higher.
“The old shop looks like hell,” Doug said softly, looking past him to glance at the place he’d once taken so much pride in.
There were so many things Tate could have said.
So many things he’d already said. Questions he could have asked, maybe questions he should have asked.
He found himself thinking of what Guy had
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